It may console you to know — 
and I admit that is not at all certain,
has yet to be determined — 
that there may be a road
somewhere ahead 
that can get us out of here,
take us somewhere we’ve never been
that is better than this.

People like to talk about
“the good old days”
forgetting how often 
someone’s good old days
were ankle-deep in the misery
of others. Were nurtured
in blood and tears, 
fed on bones and theft.

You might have to
give something away
to walk that road.
Something you rely on.
Something you call your own, deep rooted
like the oak your grandfather planted
in the front corner
of the lot where stands
your family home. 

You may not have to
cut the tree down — 
but you might.

At the least
you should gather the acorns
and give them away to be planted
to people who’ve long been starved
for shade, beauty,
the ecstasy
of watching something grow.